


I.O.U

by opposablethumbs



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Tony Stark's Birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11037690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opposablethumbs/pseuds/opposablethumbs
Summary: The Avengers decide what to give Tony for his birthday, and go on to prove that it's the thought that counts (along with kissing).Unabashed fluff for Tony's birthday.





	I.O.U

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for the [micromarvel](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/micromarvel) challenge: what do you get for the guy who has everything, but it quickly became obvious that I had more than a micros-worth of things to say about it.
> 
> Beta'd by the dearest [nursedarry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/pseuds/NurseDarry), and with bonus art by [Hopeless--Geek](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/pseuds/Hopeless--Geek)
> 
> Note: "We on'tday entionmay the ipclubstray" is pig latin for 'We don't mention the stripclub'.

“So we agree. The guy’s impossible.” Clint knocked back a shot of coffee and wiped his mouth on his cuff.

Steve sighed and put his spoon down into his half-eaten bowl of cereal. “That’s not what I said. But I can’t give you ideas if I don’t have any myself.”

Natasha snorted, tossing an orange at Barton and then setting about peeling one of her own. “Face it, Steve,” she said. “Even I’m easier to buy a gift for than Tony is.”

“Gun,” offered Clint.

“Ammo,” Bucky suggested.

“Forty-count brushed Egyptian cotton pyjamas,” Bruce said, not looking up from his newspaper.

The topic of discussion over that morning’s breakfast, if it wasn’t already clear, was what to get Tony for his birthday. Being friends with a billionaire has its perks: the luxurious tower they lived in for one and the brand-name cereal another. But it did, admittedly, make him a challenge to buy for. There were only so many novelty doodads you could give a guy, and Steve worried that if he got Tony any more literal Under Armour, people might start to think he was overly interested in Stark’s drawers.

“So we do what we did last year?” Clint suggested.

“Is that when you took him to the strip club?” Bucky asked. “Ow!” he added, as the orange juice jug jumped along with the table. “What the hell, Barton?” he stooped to rub at the leg Clint had presumably just kicked.

“We on'tday entionmay the ipclubstray,” replied Clint through gritted teeth.

“Why?” Bucky frowned. “You said Romanoff was there.”

Clint shot him a black look and side-eyed in Steve’s direction.

It was Bucky’s turn to snort. “Steve?” he asked incredulously. “You think he’d be shocked by a doxy bar?”

“Buck...” Steve warned.

“That dive in Paris? With the handsy French dame?”

“She was Belgian,” Steve corrected, his eyes level on Bucky’s, but feeling heat in the tips of his ears.

“Well I ain’t wrong about her being handsy,” Bucky teased, a lopsided smirk on his face.

Steve’s blush deepened. “No, you’re not.”

“Aww, Cap!” Clint whined. “I didn’t need that mental image.”

Steve kept his attention aimed at Bucky. “They like to think I’m a choirboy.”

Bucky hooted. “Fuck, they’ve got a lot to learn, Stevie,” he said.

“I think Clint meant the charity ball,” Bruce said calmly. He still appeared engrossed in his newspaper, but Steve noted he’d not turned the page since the discussion began.

“He does love those,” said Clint.

Steve saw Natasha wrinkle her nose. “You don’t look convinced, Nat,” he said.

Natasha shifted in her seat as they all turned to look at her. “Well,” she drawled. “Haven’t any of you noticed that Tony has been kind of... withdrawn lately?”

Clint shrugged; Bucky pulled a face; Bruce finally turned to a new page, although Steve thought he detected something hesitant in the rustle of paper.

“I guess he’s been spending quite a bit of time in his workshop,” Steve conceded, when it became apparent no one else would.

“It’s not just that,” Natasha replied. “Friday, when was the last time Tony kept a social engagement?”

“It’s been a while, sure,” the Tower’s VI said.

“How about met up with a friend?” Nat pressed. “Went on a date? Had sex?”

“We’re talking about with someone else, right?” Friday said.

“Okay, we get it,” Steve interrupted, before anything could get clarified further.

“I’m just saying,” said Natasha, “that he might not appreciate a party as much as usual.”

“So what,” Clint said. “We all just gather round and give him hugs? Tell him that it’s the thought that counts?”

Slowly and purposefully, Bruce closed his paper; folded it in two and laid it down on the table. “I think that’s exactly what we should do,” he said.

Clint scowled. “Maybe all that touchy-feely crap works for you, doc...”

“Oh yes,” Bruce replied, his tone level but a flash of green in his eye. “Me and my inner rage monster like to sit around and braid our hair together all the time.”

Clint began to protest, but the quietness of Bruce’s voice somehow won over his spluttering.

“This isn’t about what works for us,” Bruce corrected. “It’s about somebody else. For all his bluster, Tony is a sensitive guy. But he directs his anxieties inwards and forgets that other people care enough about him to want to help. Perhaps it’s time we remind him.”

“I dunno,” Clint said, scrunching up his nose. “Sounds pretty gay to me.”

Natasha slapped him upside the head. “You can’t say that!”

“What!?” Clint said, rubbing his ear. “I don’t mean bad gay, I mean like literally guys getting up close and personal gay.”

Bucky tipped his head, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest. The metal one whirred challengingly. “What’s wrong, Barton? Worried Tony might fall for your pretty-boy looks?”

“Fuck you, Robocop,” Barton replied.

Bucky cracked a face-splitting smirk. “Now _that_ sounds gay.”

Steve gave up on trying to not roll his eyes, and rolled them. “Well I think it’s a swell idea,” he said.

“Neat,” grumbled Clint unenthusiastically. “So what are we talking? One-on-one, or full ensemble?”

Steve shrugged. “Both? I mean, we could give Tony the choice.”

“Or...” said Natasha, leaning forward, “we make some kind of voucher system and he can trade them in whenever he needs a hug.”

Clint blinked at her. “You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” he asked. “Aww, Nat. If you wanted huggies that bad...”

“Barnes,” Nat interjected, nodding at Clint. On cue, Bucky covered Clint’s mouth with the palm of his flesh hand.

“Now that’s decided,” Steve said, pointedly ignoring the continued muffled noises coming from Clint, “can we get back to breakfast?”

As he spoke the final word, the door to the kitchen opened and Thor came striding mightily into the room. He was wearing the skimpiest of towels looped about his waist and his hair hung in wet rat tails. A shower-fresh scent of verbena wafted in with him.

“Salutations, my brethren from another matriarchal source,” he greeted. “What occupies you all this fair morning?”

“Eww, you licked me,” Bucky exclaimed, scowling at a smug-looking Clint.

Bruce picked up his paper again, ducking behind it as the Asgardian prince bent to recover a bowl from the bottom cupboard. “Were giving Tony hugs for his birthday,” he said.

Thor straightened, beaming a brilliant smile into the room. “A glorious idea!” he said. “In Asgard, warriors are not as shy with their physical affections as you mortals are.” With no seats left around the table, he hopped up onto the counter and rested a foot on the back of Natasha’s chair.

“Woah, Thor buddy,” Clint said, averting his eyes. “Too much rainbow bridge.”

Steve shook his head and returned to his cereal. It was soggy.

****

It took some negotiation, but eventually everyone agreed to the issue of one individual hug voucher and a collective cuddle. Thor insisted his token be reusable. Steve would have rather they’d all offered three, but as the date grew closer, one plus ensemble seemed like a reasonable compromise. Steve just decided to make his a particularly thorough hug.

Even though he’d not really noticed until Natasha mentioned it, the process brought Tony’s absence into focus for Steve. It was normal for Tony to skip breakfast. Often lunch as well. But he’d usually put in a show in the evenings, even if only to get more coffee beans from the canister in the kitchen. Two movie nights came and went and Steve found himself listening in vain for the acerbic little comments that Tony would’ve thrown out. Even the rather presumptuous way the engineer had of flopping his feet into people’s laps was conspicuous by its absence, and Steve found he... missed it.

At least Tony’s hiding made it easy to put the voucher booklet together. Bruce suggested they use a template from the internet and print them off, but it felt important to Steve - and apparently to Natasha who backed him up wholeheartedly - that they be handmade. Clint’s submission was an envelope with ‘YOU’VE GOT 1 HUG’ written on it, but at least he’d spent some time decorating it with doodles of the different kinds of arrow Tony had invented for him.

The rest made a better show of it, although where Bucky found glitter in the Tower was a question best left unasked. Steve decided to paint his. He had some watercolours that Tony (read: Pepper) had bought him for his own birthday, so it seemed fitting. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of sketches of Tony to work from. He drew all of them when he found the time, but Tony was a favourite subject. When the rest of the team heard the scratch of Steve’s pencil, they tended to freeze up, or clench or pose. Tony just didn’t notice; absorbed in his own task to the exclusion of everything else, natural and oddly graceful as he made about his workshop.

In the end, Steve decided on a pencil sketch of Tony playing with DUM-E as his reference picture. He transferred it carefully to the thick paper stock he had chosen to work on, and then painted it in a single sitting. In fact, he enjoyed himself so much that he also volunteered to make the group hug coupon. For that, he brought together a series of full body poses that he’d sketched of each of them, Tony front and centre and in his suit. It was only when the paint was dry that Steve realised he was missing from the composite, and had to draw himself into the side.

Finally, Steve took all of their vouchers and bound them with a piece of leather thong, like he used to do to make his sketchbooks. Even with front and rear covers, it still felt a little flimsy. Natasha offered to wrap it, and did a surprisingly elaborate job of it: a tasteful gift box with a red ribbon wrapped neatly and precisely around it and further curls of ribbon bouncing in tight spirals from under a hand-tied bow. It looked… like a gift, at least. That meant all that was left was for Tony’s actual birthdate to come around.

****

“Nat,” Steve called, beckoning her over from the door of the gym to join him on the mats. “Is everything ready?”

Natasha scowled at him as she picked up some sparring mittens. “Are you questioning my ability to run a mission?”

“When that mission is a surprise party; yes. Yes I am.” He took a jab at her right mitt.

Rolling her eyes, she dodged his blow. “It’s all in hand, Steve. I left Thor and Clint guarding the cake...”

“Oh God.”

“Bruce is picking the music.”

“Oh _God_.”

“And Bucky’s doing the flower arrangements.”

“Oh... what?” Steve said, the punch petering out mid swing. He blinked at her. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

She smiled crookedly. “Mostly. I made sure the buffet was set out nicely and locked the door behind me.”

A thought came to Steve. “What about the vents?”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Natasha scolded, dropping her padded hands to her hips. “Have you been reading the internet again?”

Steve chuckled. “No. But Clint has. And I don’t trust him not to get ideas.”

“Me neither,” she said with a smirk, pulling off the gloves and tossing them onto a bench. “That’s why I put flash bang mines in there.”

“Natasha!”

She waved him off. “Don’t worry. They’re not military grade.”

“Natasha,” he repeated, but with much less conviction.

She shrugged. “Anyway, that’s my part done. You done your bit?”

“I had Friday put a reminder in Tony’s diary for 3pm. She’ll make sure he shows.”

“He better. I don’t line up that many mini quiches lightly.” She gave him her most serious murder-stare.

Steve laughed, unwrapping his taped hands as he did. “In that case, I don’t want to be late either.”

“You need two hours to make yourself beautiful, Rogers?” she mocked.

“Special occasion, _Romanoff_ ” he replied, echoing her tone. “Plus it takes me a while to choose between my dark blue shirt or my slightly darker blue shirt.”

She gave him a playful shove. “See you at the party.”

Just then, a dull explosion rippled through the ventilation system. Steve looked at Natasha and Natasha looked at Steve.

“He’ll be fine,” she assured.

~~~~

Three o’clock came. Three o’clock went. As four rolled around, even Natasha was picking at the olives and Clint, who was wearing purple-tinted shades, had started spearing finger-food corndogs with an emergency boot arrow. By five, Bucky’s flower arrangements were beginning to wilt and even the curls on Tony’s gift seemed to have lost some of their bounce.

“I don’t think he’s coming,” Steve said.

The rest of the Avengers turned to Steve.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” he said. “I don’t think he’s coming either.” When they all continued staring at him, he sighed. “Alright, I’ll go rustle us up a birthday boy.”

Once he was out of earshot of the others, he asked, “Friday?”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Did you remind Tony to meet us in the rec room at three?”

Friday snorted in a very uncomputerlike fashion. “Sure I did.”

“And what did he say?”

“Well, ‘said’ isn’t necessarily the best word,” she said. “It was more that he grunted. Growled? Umm...”

“So you knew he wasn’t coming then,” interrupted Steve.

“I had a hint,” she said. “To be fair to him though, the boss doesn’t know you’ve thrown him a surprise party.”

“No,” Steve conceded. “But he _does_ know it’s his birthday. Surely it doesn’t take a genius to put that two and two together.”

“Ehh...” and Steve could hear the shrug in her synthesised voice. “When he gets like this you’re lucky if he knows what month it is, never mind what day.”

And it’s true. Steve has seen too many of these obsessive spirals of Tony’s not to recognise the pattern. The lack of eating; sleeping; generally taking care of himself. Pouring his energy into project after project. Pushing himself until he is collapses, exhausted but happy.

“He’s in the workshop?” Steve asked.

“Where else?” Friday replied.

~~~~

“Fuck you, fuck them, and fuck that!” are the first words that greet Steve as the elevator doors ping open. Tony does not sound happy. The man himself, however, cannot be seen.

“Um, Tony?” Steve said. Suddenly, a familiar if wild-eyed face pops up from behind a desk.

“Cap,” he greeted. A pained wince flashed across his features. “Steve.”

“You, uh... working on something?”

Tony stood, rubbing ink-stained hands off on his jeans. “Always,” he said. There were dark circles under his eyes.

Steve nodded. “The others and I thought you might like to join us for lunch. Or dinner, now.”

“You don’t need to mother me, Steve. I ate on...” Tony paused, frowned thoughtfully. “What day is it?”

Steve sighed. “Your birthday.”

For the first time, a glimmer of something other than fatigue or irritation crossed his face. “Hey, it is?”

“Yes,” Steve confirmed. “Now are you going to come to your party or do I let Clint loose on the egg rolls?”

Tony took a step closer. “Aww,” he said. “You threw me a party?”

Steve shuffled his feet as Tony came within a few paces of him. “Well, not a flashy one: the guys, finger food, some beers. I think Thor has some Asgardian party games planned...” He lifted his head and smiled at Tony. “Just some friends, hanging out.”

At the final words, Tony’s face fell. “I really should finish what I’m doing,” he said, gesturing behind himself to where Steve could just see a circle of paper strewn over the floor.

Something about the way he said it annoyed Steve. Not exactly _at_ Tony, but with him. With the sudden sense of isolation that came with his words.

“Friday,” he called, knowing some of his anger found its way into his tone. “What is Tony doing?”

“Uh, exactly?” Friday replied. “I’m not sure he knows that himself.”

Steve turned his attention back to Tony, who at least had the decency to look abashed. “Sounds to me like something that can hold. Elevator, soldier.”

Tony blinked at him, mouthing the start of a few excuses. Steve crossed his arms over his chest and gave the other man his very best ‘I’m Captain America’ glower. He didn’t entirely expect it to work. Tony has always been fairly impervious to posturing, especially Steve’s. However, on this occasion, he slouched off in the direction of the elevator. As he drew level, Steve let out a polite cough.

“Maybe we should get you showered before heading to the rec room,” he said.

Tony stopped just inside the elevator, sniffed his armpit. “That bad?” he asked over his shoulder.

Steve joined him in the enclosed space, breathing through his mouth as delicately as he could. “It’s not great,” he replied.

Tony’s face at last cracked into a smirk. “Thanks, Steve,” he said.

~~~~

Fifteen minutes later, a substantially fresher looking and smelling Tony Stark arrived at his birthday party.

“You _guys_ ,” he said as he surveyed the remaining buffet, favours, and posies adorning the room.

Natasha coughed.

“...and Barton,” Tony amended. “Hey! Mini quiche!” He pounced on the buffet table.

Steve waited until he was satisfied that Tony had eaten a full meal’s worth of tiny food before making his way to the birthday boy’s side. He wasn’t alone. With his easy charm, Tony had gathered the other Avengers around him in a horseshoe.

“Hey, Steve-o,” Tony greeted as Steve approached. “The Buckster has just been telling us about when you were pocket-sized.”

“Never call me that again,” said Bucky, his murder-glare almost as accomplished as Natasha’s.

Tony punched him on his metal arm. “You got it, Terminator.”

Clint snorted.

Clearing his throat, Steve stepped into the middle of the semicircle. “As we’re already assembled...” he began, “the others and I have got you something.”

Tony’s eyes sparkled. “Is it a giant cake?” he asked. “Is it a giant cake with a naked lady inside?”

“See, that’s what I said we should’ve got him,” Clint crowed, following it with a pained yelp as Natasha smacked him one.

“No, it’s... not that,” said Steve. “We wanted to give you something personal. Something you might not even realise you need.”

Tony tipped his head slightly to one side. Suddenly, the whole idea stuck Steve as ridiculous but, with Tony’s curiosity piqued, it was too late to do anything about it.

He passed the box to Tony. The engineer turned it over in his hands as delicately as a he would a precious piece of equipment. He fingered the knot and teased the curls of ribbon. At last, he pulled at the bow and the whole thing unravelled in his hands. He lifted the lid and peered at the booklet inside.

“They’re vouchers,” Steve said. He hesitated as Tony’s lips formed a silent question. “For hugs. From all of us.”

Tony’s brow folded. He stared down to the box, up at the people surrounding him. His face twitched as he attempted to find the correct expression for the situation. Finally, he settled on one. He laughed. Steve breathed for the first time in too many seconds.

“You are absolutely right,” Tony chortled, “even I wouldn’t have thought to get me that.”

Clint hopped down from his perch atop the refrigerator. “Okay man, let’s do this.”

Tony purposefully turned to the archer, tore his voucher free and handed it over.

Clint pocketed it, took a deep and bracing breath, and pulled Tony into an embrace. To his credit, he didn’t skimp, giving Tony a full ten count cuddle before he stepped back.

“...and that’s me off the hook,” he said.

“Barton,” grumbled Bucky, “you stole my move.”

“That’s because all your moves are seventy years out of date, old man,” Clint shot back.

Despite the distracting nature of the two bickering hotshots, Steve found his eyes fixed on Tony, assessing him with much the same level of detail as Tony had the gift box. There was something different in the set of his shoulders, and the smile on his face seemed just that bit softer and less artificial than it had been before.

Before Steve could draw too many conclusions from that, however, Tony was blocked from his view by a scarlet cape and expanse of muscled back.

“My turn!” announced Thor.

****

Tony hadn’t spent any more of his vouchers at his party. In fact, the little booklet of leather-bound paper had made its way into his wallet before the end of the night and Steve had not seen it in the three weeks since.

“I guess it was just a silly present,” he said aloud, as the film-night DVD began to load.

“Huh?” Bucky asked, tossing him a beer.

“Oh, nothing,” Steve replied. “Just... Tony’s gift.”

“You mean his hugs?” said Natasha, flopping down into a chair.

“Yeah,” huffed Steve. “I guess... I don’t know... I just thought he might use them.”

“He used mine,” Clint said, sprawling out on the floor right in front of the TV.

“Because you told him to,” Steve replied.

“Mine too,” Bucky chimed in.

That _was_ news. “Hey, when?” Steve asked.

“A week or so ago,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Caught me in an elevator. Just walked in, let the doors shut and then went ‘hug me, Barnes.’ Jeez, I thought Howard was an oddball.”

“So, did you?” Steve asked.

Bucky frowned at him. “Of course. He had my tab.”

“And then what?” said Steve.

“Man, Stevie,” Bucky replied. “What is this, Twenty Questions? Then he said thank you and got off at the next floor.”

Natasha looked up from her popcorn. “At least you didn’t have to make small talk afterwards, then,” she said.

“He hugged you, too?” Clint said, rolling onto his belly and beating Steve to the question by a fraction of a second.

“The mission to Baglia,” Natasha said with a nod. “Four hours on the quinjet and right at the start he goes ‘would it be okay if I hug you, Natasha’. _Natasha!_ He never uses my full name.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” cooed Clint. “And did you two paint your toenails afterwards?”

Natasha poked him with a long toe. “It was awkward as hell if you must know, at least for me. It wasn’t... like I thought it might be.”

“Yeah?” asked Steve, absolutely not shuffling in his seat.

Nat smiled a little ruefully. “Yeah, I expected it would be weird, you know? Like he’d make some kind of comment, or a pass, and I’d have to punch him. But he didn’t. He just hugged me, and I hugged him, and it was... okay, I guess. I kept wondering if I should give him another one. Like it mattered to him that I did it.”

“Felt like the guy really appreciated, right?” Bucky said.

Nat nodded.

Clint craned his neck up, peering into the kitchen where Bruce was fixing himself a cup of herbal tea. “How about you, Brucie-poo? Any Science Bro action to report?”

Bruce looked up from his infuser. “Science bro?”

“Internet,” Natasha provided.

“Ah,” Said Bruce. “But if you mean has Tony come to collect on my hug voucher, the answer is no.”

For some reason, Steve felt relief at the admission. The idea that Tony might have hugged everyone but him did not sit well.

“Well, something to look forward to, hey doc?” Clint said, lying back down. “Now come on; enough of all these real feelings. Let’s watch some actors pretend to have them.”

Steve settled back into the cushions. The couch next to him sat empty, but he didn’t think about that.

****

There came a knock at Steve’s door. That was odd enough; the compound had the most pervasive intercom system Steve has ever encountered. More than once, he had been forced to call ‘Avengers Assemble!’ from the john. From the _actual_ john.

A second gentle rap sounded from the hall. “Uh… Steve? You in there?”

Bruce, then. Steve put down the book he was reading and crossed to the door. On the other side stood the familiarly disheveled scientist, looking perhaps even more crumpled than usual.

“Dr. Banner,” Steve greeted.

“Hey, Steve,” Bruce replied, running his fingers through his tangled curls. “Got a minute?”

“Sure,” said Steve, stepping to one side. “What’s up.”

Bruce slouched into the room. Steve had long since realised that, while Bruce was not as large as his angry alter ego, he was far from a small man. He only managed to seem that way by hunching his shoulders and dipping his head, and generally folding in around himself.

“It’s Tony,” Bruce said with a sigh.

“What’s he done this time?” Visions of the last, horrifying time that Tony upgraded the toaster danced in Steve’s mind.

Bruce shook his head. “Nothing. Unless you count hugging me.”

The words hit Steve like a bullet to the gut, a comparison he felt qualified to make. He needed to sit down, but pride kept him on his feet. “You or the other guy?” he quipped.

Bruce’s eyebrows scrunched together and he gave Steve a very hard look. “I’m worried about him,” he said.

Steve forced himself to shrug. “So what’s in a hug?” he asked. “He’s taken over half the team up on the offer. That’s why we gave him the vouchers.”

Bruce’s gaze travelled from Steve and around Steve’s suite, alighting on the little bistro set Steve had previously been sat at. “May I?” he said, gesturing at a chair.

“Sure,” Steve replied, letting Bruce seat himself first and then sitting opposite him, only a little grateful to not have to maintain the hard line of his ‘at attention’ spine.

Bruce drummed his fingers on the table top for a moment; stopped to consider the title of Steve’s book. “Better Angel?” he asked.

“I’d started reading it just before I went to Camp Lehigh,” Steve explained. “I didn’t think it was the kind of thing you took to a military base with you, so I never finished it.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully.

“So, Tony?” prompted Steve.

Bruce cleared his throat. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him,” he said. “And what I’m seeing concerns me. Sure he traded in Barton’s voucher, in the spirit of things, and Thor gave him very little choice. But Barnes and Nat. He instigated those encounters. Doesn’t it make you wonder why?”

Steve didn’t answer.

Lifting his backside just a little, Bruce pulled a small notebook out of his rear pocket.

“8th June, hugs Barnes,” he said, reading from the pad. He looks up. “The 8th June would also have been Howard and Maria’s fiftieth wedding anniversary.”

Steve drew his lips together, licking them as they parted. “Come on, Bruce, Tony didn’t even know when it was his own birthday.”

“It wasn’t a coincidence,” Bruce replied, and the quiet confidence of his voice demanded belief.

“But, Bucky?” Steve said. “Of everyone, surely he’s the last one Tony would go to.”

Bruce shrugged. “Guilt?” he suggested. “Punishing himself? Maybe the part of him that still looks up to Howard knows that he and Bucky were friends; that Howard respected him.”

“I was Howard’s friend, too,” Steve replied, and thought he saw a small smile twitch at the other man’s lips.

“Then there’s Natasha,” Bruce continued. “”Hers was harder to place. I looked up everything I could about Maria, assuming that was the link, but I was nowhere close.”

“So what was it?” Steve asked.

Bruce pointed at him. “You,” he said.

“Me?” Steve said, blinking, “I wasn’t even there.”

Bruce nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “You were laid up with that shrapnel injury.”

“It was nothin’,” defended Steve on instinct.

“It was a six inch piece of steel that pierced your liver,” Bruce corrected. “What do you think was the last thing Tony did, before setting off for Baglia?” he asked.

Steve frowned at him. “I dunno,” he said. “Picked his in-suit music, like usual?”

“He came to see you in the infirmary,” Bruce replied.

Steve paused over that detail. “Oh,” he said at last, “Well he didn’t seem particularly in need of a hug when he did.”

“Of course not,” Bruce said. “Tony is very careful of how he behaves when you’re around.”

“Please remember you said that next time he rolls his eyes at me.”

Bruce shook his head. “The mission to Baglia was tough, I read the report. The kid…”

Steve stopped him short. “Yeah, I know.”

“That kind of thing gets to Tony,” Bruce said softly. “I think without you there, he let himself face that.”

Steve clenched his jaw, feeling the ripple of muscle along it. “So you’re saying he did better without me there?”

“Not better, just different,” Bruce said. “He could be weak in front of her, because he knows how strong she is.”

“So why did he hug you?” Steve asked, before catching his own tone. “Which came out wrong,” he said, “because obviously he respects you and the other guy is strong as hell…”

“We’ve been working on something,” Bruce replied, easing past Steve’s awkwardness. “Something big. He started laying out the plans before his birthday, and brought me in on it a few days after.”

“I have to ask: is this a ‘something’ that could blow up horribly in our faces?”

Bruce shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s… it’s all math, and kind of hard to explain. But if it worked it would change the world.” He shrugged. “And if it failed, it was nothing but ink on paper.”

“Okay,” Steve said, mostly appeased. “But I don’t get it. This sounds like Tony’s perfect project. Where’d the hugging come in?”

“It failed. Or rather, his approach failed. Mine… is a different story.”

“So you were commiserating him, or he was congratulating you?”

Bruce clicked his tongue. “Not exactly.” He picked his notebook back up and pushed his glasses up his nose with a single finger. “I’m going to read this verbatim,” he said. He adopted a flat, emotionless voice. “What am I doing wrong, Bruce? What use am I to the team, to the world, if all I can do is recycle the same old shit.” He broke off. “I’m already hugging him, you see,” he explained to Steve.

Steve nodded.

“I have to do better,” Bruce continued, resuming the careful monotone. “I’ve seen what’s coming. I have to do more.”

Steve squeezed his lips tightly together. Tony funds the Avengers, he fights on the front line, he designs and often makes all their suits and weapons and defenses. He’s brought the team together in ways that Steve could only do in pen and paint. What the _hell_ is he talking about, ‘doing more’?

“All I could do was just hold him,” Bruce said. “I’m… I’m not very good with all this. Even before the other guy, I had to keep myself in check. I didn’t want to be like…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I didn’t know what else to do. Tony is the smartest guy I know, and I know some pretty smart guys. If he says he’s failing, he’s not looking for sympathy or correction. He knows he’s right. But his work is right at the core of him, and not being able to do what he thinks he should be able to is almost impossibly hard for him. Handing it over to me is a huge show of trust.”

Steve surged to his feet, needing movement to put his thoughts together.

“So,” he said, vaguely aware, from the way Bruce’s soft brown eyes track back and forth, that he had begun pacing. “He connects with Howard through Buck, admires Natasha for her strength and trusts you to be the better man.” He stopped, turning to face Bruce. “I’m not from this world, Doctor,” he said. “We didn’t express things the same way in my day as you do now.” He picked up his book, the pages sighing closed in his hand, and tossed it on the bed. “But it sounds to me like these hug vouchers are enabling Tony to open up to people he respects in one way or another. And that has to be a good thing.”

“I agree. And there’s only one thing that matters more to him than any of the things I’ve mentioned. But I worry the won’t act on it, because it’s something just for him. Well,” Bruce said with a small smile. “More or less.”

Steve stretched, using the moment to allow himself a long blink. “Well,” he said with a grunt, “I’m not going to be much help there.”

“Oh?”

“I’m hopeless at going after the things I want as well.”

Bruce stood up, pocketing his notepad. “Oh, I know,” he said. “Goodnight, Steve. Thanks for talking.”

The scientist let himself out. Checking the clock, Steve realised it was past midnight. Time for bed. Stripping down to his briefs, Steve dimmed the lights and laid himself out on top of the covers. He stared at the ceiling for a while. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Tony would go to Bruce for support. Even Nat and Bucky made sense in the context the doctor provided.

But none of them were Steve.

That shouldn’t surprise him either. He and Tony have not always had the easiest working relationship. He’d thought, however, that there was enough history between them that they could call each other ‘friend’. He saw Tony as a friend. He sometimes saw Tony as more than a friend; as an essential part of his life. But evidently the feeling wasn’t mutual. Maybe there was a way to change that, but that assumed Tony _wanted_ it to change. But Steve’s mom had a saying: _if you don’t try, you’ll never know._ And Steve found that he _wanted_ to know.

Turning onto his side, Steve admitted to himself that there wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance he was going to get to sleep any time soon. He flipped on the bedside light and patted about the covers. If he wasn’t going to rest, the least he could do was finish his book.

****

Without as much reason to hide out in his workshop, Tony had been putting in a few more appearances around the facility. He came to movie night, although he spent most of his time playing with his phone. Rumour had it that he’d started going to yoga with Natasha and Bucky, and Clint was teaching him Mahjong. But try as he might, Steve didn’t seem to be able to build the bridges the rest of the team were. He invited Tony running with him, or to spar. To train in general, because that was what Steve did in his down time, but it didn’t work. Tony took the offers as criticism, that he was out of shape or practice. Only when Steve suggested they go out for coffee did Tony show any interest, but he quickly found an excuse not to go.

Maybe Clint was right. The guy seemed impossible. You can’t get close to someone who doesn’t want you there.

And that’s why it came as even more of a surprise when DUM-E showed up at Steve’s door one night at the end of June with a piece of paper clutched in its claws. Steve patted the robot on the head as he unfolded the paper, revealing a handwritten note inviting him to a celebration in dual honour of the 4th of July and his birthday. The note was signed, in flourished handwriting, from Anthony Edward Stark.

In an age of emails and text messages, it was a curiously old-fashioned item. Add to that who the note was from, and it was downright perplexing. He tried, unsuccessfully, to get information out of the others, even braving a training session with Natasha in the hope of convincing her to spill the beans. He was that desperate. Of course, it got him nowhere, other than a cryptic and vaguely threatening, ‘you’ll see’ once she’d pinned him to the mat. It seemed that hugging the team had helped ingratiate Tony to them to the point that they were prepared to cover for him. As leader it should have pleased Steve to see them pull together the way they were, and it did. It didn’t stop it from being damned annoying, however. He’d just have to wait it out.

The party, when he got to it, wasn’t a grand affair. Just the team who lived in-house, along with a couple of the people Steve considered friends: Sam and his mom were there, Hank, Joe from the UK, even. It was obvious that a lot of thought had gone into the arrangements.

The party was in full swing, at least as far as its modesty permitted, and the sky was growing dark over the city. Steve nudged open the door to the roof access platform, seeking a few minutes of solitude and fresh air. The sound of hushed discussion came along with the distant hiss of traffic.

“I don’t know, Nat.” It was Tony talking, so wrapped in shadows that Steve hadn’t seen him through the glass door panel.

Nat was leaning against the metal railings, facing outwards like Tony. “Are you kidding me, Stark?” she said. “He’s really been trying. I can see it. Even Clint can see it. Why can’t you?”

Silhouetted black against the navy sky, Steve watched as Tony shrugged. “You’d think this would be easy for a guy like me.”

“Being a guy like you is exactly what makes it so hard,” Natasha corrected. She let out a vaguely exasperated huff. “Just… do like we planned, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony said with a resigned sigh. He tipped his head to rest on Nat’s shoulder and she wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

Steve backed out of the access corridor, closing the door carefully behind him.

This clearly wasn’t meant for him.

~~~~

Steve had the distinct impression people were trying to keep him from going to bed. He’d been trying to sneak off since after he’d been forced into an impromptu toast, but with zero success. From Thor physically blocking the exit to Mrs. Wilson requesting a dance with the birthday boy, Steve had made his way out of less formidable Hydra bases.

And that was why it came as a surprise when, at a little before midnight, Nat yawned loudly.

“Time for bed,” she said. “Clint?”

“I’ll walk you to your suite,” he said, _almost_ as if it had been rehearsed.

“We should be going, too,” Mrs. Wilson said.

“And me,” announced Bucky. “I have to be up early for one of Fury’s pep talks.”

Thor stood, beaming at them all.

“Thor?” Natasha asked.

“Are there not to be fiery explosions to mark this special occasion?” Thor asked, looking out of the window.

“Fireworks,” Bucky corrected. “And no, buddy, nothing to see here.”

“Come on,” Bruce said, plucking at Thor’s sleeve and moving to the door. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Thor’s eyes went wide with an almost childlike glee. “What is this something, Doctor?” he asked.

Bruce’s eyes cast nervously about. “Umm,” he said. Natasha pouted at him. “The big guy thinks he can do more push ups than you.”

“Slanderous lies!” Thor bellowed, slamming his tankard down on the counter. “I shall gladly prove him wrong. To the gymnasium!”

And then, in a matter of seconds, Tony and Steve were alone.

The silence stretched on. “Uh,” Steve said at last, “I really appreciate you throwing me this shindig.”

A small smirk tugged at Tony’s cheek, but he dipped his head with uncharacteristic bashfulness. “Well, you threw me one. Consider this payment in kind.”

Steve coughed, absolutely not looking at the way Tony’s long lashes dusted darkly over his cheeks. “Sure, no problem,” he said. Again, he cleared his throat. “I… should be getting to bed.”

For a second, neither of them moved. Then, just as Steve was turning to leave, Tony reached out and caught him by the arm. “Steve, wait,” he said.

Steve turned back to him, a puzzled frown drawing down his brow.

Rooting inside his jacket pocket, Tony withdrew his wallet and took the slightly dog-eared voucher book out of it. A single leaf remained between the two covers. Steve felt trembling expectation flip his stomach but instead of tearing out the painted page, Tony handed the entire booklet over to Steve.

“What’s this?” Steve said, although the answer seemed obvious.

“My gift,” Tony replied.

Slowly, Steve nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I get it. It’s fine. You’ve got the others, and I’m just the CO…”

While he spoke, Tony’s brow was dropping further and further.

“You don’t have to like me, so long as we can work together. I’m glad you’ve gotten closer to the team, I really am, and I can respect you not wanting to go there with me.”

“Steve,” Tony interrupted, “Look inside.”

Even though he knew what he would see inside, Steve obliged. But instead of the painting he made of Tony and DUM-E, there is a single cut piece of card, bordered in gold and lettered in the same neat handwriting as the party invite had been. It read ‘To Steve, IOU a hug, love Tony’.

“I’m confused,” said Steve, honestly.

Delving once more into his pocket, Tony pulled out the voucher Steve had made. “I know for the others, this whole thing was just a bit of a joke.” Again came the bashful smile that seemed so incongruous with his normal cocky smirk, and yet how oddly fitting on his face. “And maybe they meant a bit more to me. But with you…” He held out the voucher for Steve to take, “I need to know you want it too.”

Steve’s throat was dry. “Want what?” he asked.

“A hug?” Tony suggested. His eyes shone. “More?”

Steve took the voucher from Tony’s hand and tucked it into his shirt pocket. Then he tore the IOU out of the booklet, leaving it empty. He offered it to Tony. “A hug,” he confirmed.

To his credit, Tony’s face only fell a little. He took a single, small step forward. Steve matched him, but with a longer stride. The space closed, Tony’s arms went about Steve’s waist, and Steve’s looped around Tony’s back. As Tony settled in against Steve’s chest, he understood what Buck and Nat had meant, you could feel how important this was to Tony. And the honest truth was, it was important to Steve too. The feel of Tony in his arms, solid and warm, was everything he’d hoped it would be. The height difference meant Tony’s breath stroked across his neck and Steve felt hot and cold and a little giddy. He pulled back far enough to focus on Tony’s face.

“And more?” he whispered.

Tony blinked, and Steve would have sworn he felt the shared heat of their bodies ramp up a couple of degrees. “Seriously?” he said.

For an answer, Steve leaned forward and kissed him.

 

**_And then came the fireworks_ **

 


End file.
